Cravings
by Zeplerfer
Summary: Despite his best efforts, romance novelist Arthur Kirkland has repeatedly failed to break his cigarette habit. When he finally gives hypnotherapy a try, he develops a new craving for his handsome blond therapist instead. USUK.


**Summary:** Despite his best efforts, romance novelist Arthur Kirkland has repeatedly failed to break his cigarette habit. When he finally gives hypnotherapy a try, he develops a new craving for his handsome blond therapist instead.

**Pairing:** USUKUS. (Non-canonical ages. Arthur is 29, Alfred is 25.)

**Rating:** M for smoking and sexytimes.

* * *

The hardback novel felt solid and wonderful in Alfred's hands. He'd read the drafts, of course, but something about the final product with its glossy cover made the book seem particularly real. He grinned to himself. It was the first time he had ever been a character in a book, even if it was under a different name. He skimmed the first few pages and began to read…

_Halloween was a distinctly American holiday, Edward Baker thought to himself, as he scanned the crowd. He was too old to go house-to-house asking for candy, but he fully intended to find another way to 'treat' himself for the evening. His eyes swept over a kaleidoscope of bright colors and strange costumes at the Art Institute's Halloween Party (he wanted a place with class and more than its fair share of gay men—this place promised both). Edward spotted a number of handsome fellows, but rejected them all for one reason or another (too old, too skinny, too straight), until a wayward tuft of blond hair caught his attention. He followed the tuft, watching its owner smile and mingle. Eyes hidden behind glasses glanced in his direction and Edward decided to make his move. _

_He pushed his way through the crowd of people, moving ever closer to his destination. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he admired his target, a tall young man wearing a tuxedo. The man caught his gaze and smiled back—showing Arthur his vampire teeth. As Edward closed the gap between them, he caught sight of the other man's brilliant blue eyes. They fit his costume perfectly—giving him exactly the sort of compelling, hypnotic stare one would expect from a vampire._

"_Nice costume… Mr. Holmes," the young man said. _

"_Thank you," Edward replied. His Sherlock Holmes costume had drawn a number of compliments all night. It matched his crisp English accent splendidly._

"_Can you guess mine?" The young man winked._

"_Guess? I never guess. I deduce based on the available evidence," Edward crisply replied in-character, drawing a chuckle from the other young man._

_Edward adjusted his deerstalker cap and pursed his lips, circling the 'vampire' and fully inspecting his costume (and taking the opportunity to admire the man's lean hips, broad shoulders, and firm butt). If the costume were immediately obvious, the man wouldn't have suggested guessing. Edward suddenly noticed the small amount of glitter in the man's blond hair and on his face. He connected the dots in his head and sighed to himself. A vampire that sparkled. He briefly reconsidered flirting with the young man and then decided that a one-night stand didn't need good taste in literature._

_The young man grinned. "Well?"_

_Edward waved a hand dismissively. "Costumes are too easy. I prefer to analyze why you're wearing that particular costume. A tuxedo for Halloween, that tells me that you're looking to impress. The glitter a signal which sex you want to impress. The shoes are __Crockett & Jones, but your bow tie is a clip-on. So you're looking for someone suave and debonair, but aren't quite able to manage it yourself. And a man who wears a clip-on would never buy C & J. They must be a gift from your parents. You haven't looked at the artwork on the walls once in the past ten minutes, therefore your parents are the art patrons, not you. Which leads me to suspect that you're here for the same reason I am… and it's not the attractive young ladies."_

_The young man laughed. "Very good, Mr. Holmes."_

_Edward smirked. "Of course, I did notice you admiring my bum."_

_The Englishman invited the 'vampire' back to his apartment for a cup of 'coffee.' The young man introduced himself as Eric Watson and happily agreed. As they left the party together, Edward decided that he rather liked Halloween, ridiculous costumes and all._

* * *

_Several months prior…_

Every year, on his birthday, Arthur Kirkland pledged that he would finally quit smoking. It was bad enough being 29 and single and lonely and completely at a loss for how to write a sequel to his best-selling erotic novel. He didn't want to turn 30 and still smell like an ashtray. So Arthur bought nicotine lozenges, patches, and chewing gum. Within weeks he was back to the same bad habit. As his writer's block grew progressively worse, he found himself soothing his nerves with gentle puffs of smoke blown into the cool twilight air. Hands that were supposed to be furiously racing across a keyboard toyed with a cigarette instead.

It turned out that bad habits were the hardest ones to break.

His publisher had a prescription for the writer's block: a one-year stint in America so he could experience American culture and write a romance novel aimed at the lucrative American audience.

As for his cigarette addiction, Arthur was on his own.

With a move to a new country upending his life, Arthur decided it was time to try something new to finally knock his cigarette habit. Having eliminated the mainstream methods as impossibly hopeless, whatever remained, however improbable, provided his only avenue for relief. Fortunately, America was home to a plethora of crack-pot cures, ranging from acupuncture to hypnotherapy. Arthur selected therapy on the grounds that it sounded marginally more dignified than poking his body full of needles.

He made an appointment at a local therapy clinic specializing in anti-addiction programs. Despite the sudden downpour, he arrived early and waited in one of the consultation rooms. Arthur patted his pockets and then reminded himself that smoking a cigarette immediately before his appointment would be counterproductive. Instead, he distracted himself by studying the abstract artwork hanging from the beige walls, as well as a diploma displaying the Masters of Clinical Psychology credentials for one Alfred F. Jones. If Arthur was going to see a quack therapist, at least he had picked a well-credentialed one.

Arthur looked up as a striking blond man entered the room. The young man quickly glanced down at his clipboard. He strode towards Arthur, offering his hand for a friendly handshake.

"Hello Arthur, I'm Alfred. I see you're here for our smoking cessation program?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes, I want to knock the habit," he confirmed.

They both sat down. Arthur on the leather couch, Alfred on one of the nearby armchairs.

Alfred grinned. "Good! Smoking's bad for you! I think you already know that, but I don't think your mind really knows it. The idea behind this kind of therapy is that we can imprint the idea a little deeper and make it easier for you to quit. Sometimes your subconscious has a better grasp of what you really want than you do."

Arthur nodded again and took the opportunity to study his new therapist as Alfred continued to talk. To start off with, Alfred was much younger than he expected. Mid-twenties most likely. The young man had tried to dress professionally, with his dark slacks, blue tie, and crisp white shirt, but a few sloppy touches—his crooked tie, smudged spectacles, a wayward tuft of blond hair—detracted from the professional image. Arthur found the slightly messy appearance oddly endearing.

"…so how does that sound?" Alfred finished.

"Uh, sorry?" Arthur asked, realizing that he had not heard a single sentence Alfred had uttered in the past minute.

Alfred laughed. "Yeah, I know it's strange, but I really do find that just a bit of a back rub really helps people get into the right relaxed state of mind for a good session. Of course, if you're uncomfortable with that, I can just use the standard—"

"No, no. A back massage would be lovely," Arthur interrupted. Attractive young men could massage his back any time they wanted. At least if the program didn't work, he could say he got something for his money.

Alfred set the clipboard on the table and moved to stand behind the couch. He started gentling kneading Arthur's shoulders and neck. Arthur felt the knots in his back start to loosen and he decided that the young man should quit hypnotherapy and start a career in back massage. It was a shame to let such skilled fingers go to waste.

"Does that feel relaxing?" Alfred asked in a soft and gentle voice.

"Mmm, yes."

"What else do you use to relax?"

"Well… I like to drink tea," Arthur replied.

"Good, I want you to imagine a full cup of hot tea. Picture the image in your mind. Your favorite mug, the delicious smell, the feel of that warm mug in your hands. You take a sip and feel your body start to relax. Just let that feeling course through your body."

Arthur imagined a cup of chamomile in his favorite unicorn cup (the one he always hid before letting gentleman guests come over, although the guests had been unfortunately few of late). He took an imaginary sip and relaxed a little more deeply.

"Now take another sip. It feels very relaxing, very soothing. Go ahead and close your eyes so you can focus on the tea, its taste and its aroma."

Alfred continued describing the slow process of drinking a calming cup of tea, encouraging Arthur to relax even more with each sip. Arthur's eyes drooped and he slumped forward a little more with each step. He didn't register when the gentle hands stopped massaging his shoulders. His arms hung loosely at his sides as his head rested against his chest.

"Good. Now you are at the bottom of the cup. You feel wonderfully relaxed. But you are also very focused. You are listening carefully. I want you to focus completely on my voice."

Arthur sank into the chair. He really did feel quite relaxed. It was nice to just listen to Alfred's voice. He had such a soft and soothing voice.

Alfred picked up the clipboard and slowly read through their anti-smoking suggestions. He told Arthur that he would stop craving cigarettes and that his cigarettes would start to taste like truck exhaust. He told him that he would be able to resist the cravings. Alfred repeated the suggestions again to strongly implant them in Arthur's mind. Finally, he prepared to finish the session.

"You will feel refreshed and relaxed when you wake up. You will remember everything I told you very clearly. Now, I am going to count up from one to five, and as I count up, you will feel a little more alert with each step, until you wake up completely at step five." He counted up and encouraged Arthur to open his eyes at step five.

Arthur blinked, surprised at how refreshed he felt. If not for his memories of everything Alfred said during the session, he would have thought he had just woken up from a wonderful mid-afternoon nap.

"So, how are you feeling?"

"Good, quite good," Arthur admitted.

Alfred smiled brightly. "Excellent! Most folks find that one session does the trick, but if you feel like it's starting to wear off, you should come back for another."

As Arthur stood up, he swayed with sudden dizziness. Alfred reached out and grasped his shoulder, steadying him as the woozy feeling passed. Arthur blinked, and found his vision filled by a pair of worried blue eyes.

"—ing okay? Maybe you should sit down."

Arthur shook his head. "No, no, I'm fine," he reassured Alfred.

"Gosh, I should've warned you not to stand up too quickly. Some people get a little bit dizzy after a session. Um. Yeah." Alfred trailed off, but continued grasping Arthur's shoulder.

The awkward silence lasted for a few moments. Arthur glanced down at Alfred's hand and then back up to Alfred's face. "You can probably let go now," he suggested. Normally, he would have felt a bit flustered, but he was far too relaxed at the moment to care.

Alfred pulled back his hand and blushed. He tried to disguise his reaction with a quick laugh. "Haha! Sorry. Didn't want you to fall flat on your face."

"As long as there isn't any alcohol around, we should be safe," Arthur dryly replied. He felt remarkably cheerful; he was going to knock his smoking habit and he had made a handsome young man blush. He should have tried hypnotherapy years ago. Arthur stepped around the table and headed for the door, grabbing his umbrella from the coat rack.

Alfred recovered. "Oh? Have another addiction you'd like to quit?" he asked.

Arthur grinned and shrugged. "That's not an addiction, that's a hobby." He could hear Alfred laugh—a warm chuckle—as he left the room. Yes, it had been a very good session. Even the gloomy skies and constant rain outside couldn't dampen his mood.

* * *

To his great surprise, Arthur didn't think about cigarettes at all for the next two days. He replaced his evening smokes with a hot cup of chamomile tea and found it just as relaxing. When he lit one up on the third day simply out of force of habit, he nearly choked on the foul taste.

Arthur didn't think about cigarettes, but he soon found his thoughts pulled back to his handsome blond therapist. The memory of Alfred's smile, the gentle cadence of his voice, the faint smell of his cologne, and the feel of his dexterous fingers drove Arthur to distraction. He woke up one morning after an amazing dream of wild sex on the leather sofa of Alfred's consultation room and realized that he needed to see Alfred again. Perhaps with a few more sessions, he could make his dream a reality.

He called to make another appointment.

* * *

Alfred was surprised to see Arthur in his office again so soon.

"It didn't work," Arthur lied. "I felt like a fag last night."

Alfred's normally sunny smile disappeared. "If you have a problem with 'fags,' you might want to find a different counselor," Alfred replied coldly. It was the first time Arthur had seen him wearing anything other than a smile.

Arthur frowned, taken aback by his counselor's personality shift. "I thought the whole point was… oh. Bollocks. I forgot what that meant here." He grimaced, realizing the mistake he'd made with a simple slip of the tongue and quickly explained, "Sorry, it's not what you think. 'Fag' is British slang for cigarette. Someone warned me about that one, but I forgot."

"Oh, that's weird. Yeah, you should…"

"I would never intend to use an offensive term."

"…definitely be careful using that sort of language…"

"Especially since I'm gay myself."

"…or people will get the wrong idea."

Alfred smiled again and segued directly into explaining that they would try a different tack for their second session, as if the awkwardness had never happened. He pushed his glasses higher onto his nose and asked when and why Arthur had started smoking.

With some embarrassment, Arthur admitted that he had started as a teen when he started playing guitar with a punk rock band. The formerly straight-laced, straight-A student decided to fit in by dyeing his hair green, getting a few piercings, and taking up smoking. When he started university, he gave up the piercings and the hair dye easily enough, but he found it much harder to quit the cigarettes.

Alfred nodded and tried not to look surprised about Arthur's teenage rebellion. Everyone could have a rebellious past, even people who wore sweater-vests. "What would you say if you could go back in time and talk to your teenage self?" he asked.

"Don't dye your hair green, it makes you look like a twat," Arthur instantly replied.

Alfred chuckled. "No, I meant about smoking."

"Oh, I suppose I'd tell him… me… that they're never going to accept you anyway, so there's no point in pretending to be cool for their sakes. They'll just laugh at you even more because you're trying so hard."

Alfred nodded sympathetically. "Do you think you still see smoking as a way to look cool? Because you associate it with youth and being cool?"

Arthur looked up in surprise and pursed his lips. After a few moments of contemplation, he admitted, "You know, perhaps I do."

Alfred suggested that it might help to reconnect with a different activity that he found cool and exciting if he wanted to reconnect with his youth.

It was a testament to Arthur's growing infatuation with his handsome therapist that the first activity that came to mind was sex.

* * *

Arthur felt a little ridiculous paying for counseling sessions aimed at getting rid of an addiction he no longer had just so he could spend time with an attractive young man. It was a little like paying for a call girl, but worse because they never did anything other than talk. On the other hand, his co-payments cost less than cigarettes, so he considered it a net financial plus.

Arthur spent his third session fantasizing about fucking his therapist on the sofa, against the wall, on the desk. Afterwards, he went back to his apartment and typed furiously, putting his most lurid thoughts on paper. Somehow, Alfred had become his erotic muse. Just looking at the young man gave Arthur wild ideas.

His hands had never been busier.

* * *

_In a jumble of flying clothes, Eric and Edward found their way to the bed. Eric set his glasses on the table and then reached to remove the fake fangs, but Edward stopped him._

"_You can leave your fangs on." _

_Eric grinned. "Kinky." _

_Edward pushed the naked American down onto the bed and began running his hands down Eric's body. He licked a stripe across the tanned and golden skin of Eric's neck, and moved down, letting his tongue caress Eric's nipples, his firm abs, following the thin trail of blond hair until he reached Eric's inner thighs. The young man's needy moans grew louder, driving Edward wild. He liked it loud—he could always tell when his partner was enjoying himself. _

_Edward filled his mouth with the taste of the other man. It was more delicious and more sensual than the best chocolate. He brought Eric to the brink and then took his time stretching out the other man, even as he begged for Edward to just fucking fuck him already. Edward smirked. He loved loud bedmates with dirty mouths best of all._

_He grunted and pushed in, quickly building a steady rhythm. Everything was heat and sweat and passion, with a touch of glitter (from Eric's costume, the tiny still-rational part of his mind noted). He felt Eric cry out and come, with a few more thrusts, Edward joined him. Edward collapsed onto the bed, still panting gently as he lay on top of the sweaty sheets. He felt fantastic and wonderfully satiated. After he felt his breath return to normal, Edward pushed himself out of bed and padded to the bathroom. He cleaned himself off with a washcloth and grabbed another for Eric._

_The America gratefully accepted the cloth and wiped himself down, before tossing the dirty cloth onto the floor, near the discarded tuxedo and Sherlock Holmes costume. He smiled (no vampire fangs this time, Edward noticed). Edward lay down on the bed and jerked in surprise as warm arms wrapped around his body. The embrace felt strangely intimate, more than he expected from a one-night stand, but rather enjoyable nevertheless._

_Edward felt himself drifting into sleep, but tried to pay attention as he heard Eric whispering in his ear. "You know, I do have one regret."_

"_Hmm?" Edward replied drowsily._

"_I didn't get to use any_ _of my vampire pick-up lines."_

* * *

Arthur expected to feel a blast of cool-air as he entered the clinic. Instead, he felt the same heavy, oppressive, humid heat that had nearly killed him outside. The receptionist apologized for the lack of air-conditioning and offered to reschedule his appointment. Arthur considered his options for a few moments. He could feel sweat rolling down his back, but he was terribly intrigued by what a sweaty Alfred would look like. He glanced down the hallway and caught sight of the American. Alfred waved and ambled over to the desk.

Alfred had exchanged his dark slacks for khakis, but otherwise seemed completely unperturbed by the heat wave. He smiled brightly without a hint of sweat on his sun-kissed skin. Fuck, life just wasn't fair.

Arthur agreed to reschedule, since it appeared that sweaty Alfred was not on the menu. "How come you aren't dying of the heat?" he grumbled as he picked a new day.

"Oh, this is nothing compared to Afghanistan." Alfred walked him to the door. "I'm glad you rescheduled though, I'm ready for my coffee break."

"In this heat?"

"Yep, iced coffee. You should try it! It's really good. Here, let me show you the best place to get some."

"Alright, I'll give it a try," Arthur agreed, accepting the invitation to follow Alfred to the coffee-shop down the block. Once inside, he spent a few moments enjoying the sheer luxuriance of the cool air. He let Alfred order him some sugary iced coffee confection.

"When were you in Afghanistan?" Arthur asked as they sat down at a table located blessedly close to the air conditioning vents.

"Oh, I worked for the military for a few years during the war. A lot of soldiers take up smoking, 'cause of all the stress, and I wanted to help them quit. My grandpa was a World War II vet who died of lung cancer 'cause he got addicted during the war."

Arthur offered his sympathies.

Alfred shrugged. "So basically, this heat is nothing."

As they talked, Arthur discovered that Alfred was an Illinois farmboy who came to the big city to find a job. People thought he was personable and friendly, and he loved helping people, so he picked a career in psychology. He liked American football, loved fast food, watched superhero films on the weekends, and had made it his life's mission to visit 49 of the 50 states. ("Not North Dakota though. I can't stand North Dakota.")

Sipping his cold, sugary drink, Arthur began to see his therapist as more than just a pretty face. It seemed strange to build up an elaborate sexual fantasy around a guy who was addicted to hamburgers, but Alfred's endearing, dorky qualities just made Arthur want him even more.

"So I take it you like it?" Alfred asked, pointing to Arthur's drink.

Arthur realized that he was smiling. He nodded, even though it wasn't the iced coffee that he liked.

* * *

_Waking up after a one-night stand was a generally uncomfortable experience because Edward never knew what to expect from his bedmate. Some slunk away. Some asked for phone numbers and then never called again. Not Eric. He acted like they were a married couple, instead of strangers. He used Edward's shower, borrowed his clothes ("Dude, I'm not walking home in a tux"), and made himself at home in the kitchen. _

_Edward made his requisite morning cup of tea and watched as Eric cooked pancakes._

_Eric flipped a pancake and then turned and winked. "So Eddie, did I show you a bloody good time last night? Get it? Bloody because my costume—"_

"_Yes, I get it," Edward curtly replied. "And my name is Edward, not Eddie."_

"_Okay, how about this one: you know what they say about vampires… we stay up aaaall night."_

_Edward sighed and rolled his eyes. He sipped his tea and refused to act pleased that Eric seemed to be angling for something more than a one-night stand. He just wished the other man had chosen a different method.  
_

_Eric wasn't discouraged. "Blood isn't the only thing I suck!" he added cheerfully as he turned off the stove.  
_

"_Please, stop. I assure you, your pick-up lines are both unnecessary and idiotic."_

_"Unnecessary, huh?" Eric piled a few pancakes onto a plate and set it in front of the smaller blond. He leaned forward, until their noses were almost touching. "Alright, last one then. Look deep, deep into my eyes… and tell me you'll go on a date with me."_

_In the blue, Edward saw hope and desire and the promise of future nights together._

"…_okay," he agreed._

_Eric grabbed his own plate of pancakes and smiled. His brother gave good advice. Pancakes were the way to a man's heart._

* * *

By the end of the fifth session, disappointed at the apparent lack of progress, Alfred suggested that Arthur might prefer to try a different counselor.

Arthur shook his head and vehemently rejected the idea. He insisted that a few more sessions would be enough to cure his cravings. (A lie, he knew that each session only fed his desire.)

"You're not a quitter, are you?" Alfred asked with a smile.

"That's rather the problem, I would think," Arthur replied as he reached for his coat. He touched something in his pocket and turned back to look at Alfred. "You know how you suggested that I should try rekindling an interest? Well, I discovered one of my old favorite bands is performing in town, so I got tickets to the concert."

"Hey, that's great!"

"Yes, unfortunately, my friend won't be able to make it, so I thought I'd offer you the ticket as a thank you for your hard work."

Alfred perked up. He loved it when his patients offered him presents and he couldn't see any harm in accepting. He thanked Arthur and happily took the ticket.

Just as Arthur suspected, it never occurred to Alfred that he was agreeing to a quasi-date.

* * *

With one last look in the mirror, Arthur declared his outfit complete. He had spent entirely too much time picking out a pair of jeans that made his arse look amazing. But the primping was all worth it when he saw the blond therapist giving his butt a very appreciative look out of the corner of his eye. Arthur decided he had made the right decision to lure Alfred out of his consultation room.

"It's strange to actually have assigned seats at a concert," Arthur remarked as he sat down. "The last time I saw 'Gang of Four' I was crowded down in a mosh-pit."

Alfred grinned. "I wish they had a mosh pit here. I'd die to see that."

Arthur enjoyed the concert and every moment he spent surreptitiously ogling his seatmate. Alfred liked the music well enough, although he admitted it wasn't really his scene. When the band finished their encore, Arthur casually suggested stopping by a nearby café.

After purchasing his own drink, Arthur stared at the frothy, cream-topped confection that Alfred carried back to their table. "Is that a milkshake?" he asked.

Alfred laughed. "Nope, it's a Peppermint White Chocolate Mocha with extra cream." He took a sip and sighed in contentment. "Sooo good."

Arthur regarded the drink dubiously. "It seems more sugar than coffee."

"Yup. Just the way I like it. Wanna try some?"

Arthur nodded and took a sip. As he suspected, it tasted like liquefied white chocolate. He said as much to Alfred, who happily agreed and guzzled it down.

They talked of inconsequential things. Arthur mentioned that his apartment allowed pets and he was thinking of adopting a cat. His family always had pets as a child, back before he moved into the city, and he missed having a furry animal around. He had read about a local animal shelter putting on a Halloween party aimed at encouraging animal adoptions with cute costumes for the animals and he decided to attend.

Alfred had carved a pumpkin for his apartment that was supposed to look like Groucho Marx, but ended up looking like Arthur with a mustache. He pulled out his phone to show Arthur the picture and Arthur pretended to be offended. He was actually rather charmed that Alfred had thought of him while carving pumpkins, although his amusement vanished when he saw the photo itself.

"My eyebrows don't look like that!"

"Huh, you're right. Yours are much bigger." Alfred smiled at the photo fondly before putting his phone away and Arthur felt his annoyance disappear. As he admired Alfred's smile he made a sudden decision. He was tired of endless therapy sessions and one-sided cravings; he wanted to see if a real relationship was possible.

"I think you were right about me seeing a different counselor."

"What?" Alfred looked surprised and a little disappointed. "Oh, right. Yeah." Alfred looked down at the table.

"Because I'd like to invite _you_ to the Halloween party. As a date."

Alfred glanced up in surprise and then hesitated too long for Arthur's comfort. "I'm sorry," he finally said. "I really don't think that…"

"No, no, I understand. I've made things awkward." Arthur picked up his tea cup and left. He walked briskly towards his subway stop, crushing the empty cup in his hand and throwing it into the trash.

* * *

Arthur did not guzzle a half-bottle of rum and fall asleep crying into his pillow bemoaning the fact that he was nearly thirty and was apparently going to die a lonely old man. He did not eat a tub of mint chocolate ice cream while watching melodramatic BBC shows that mangled traditional English folk tales.

In fact, he spent the evening writing a wonderful chapter for his book where the two lead characters had a heart-felt chat and confessed their love.

Afterwards he printed the chapter and shredded it.

(But he kept the digital copy on his hard drive. Even at his lowest points, Arthur could recognize a potential best-seller when he saw it.)

* * *

_Edward traced his fingers across Eric's chest as they lay curled together on the bed, still naked and sweaty from their latest round of sex._

"_What do you want?" Edward asked softly. _

_The American stretched lazily and smiled. "Isn't it obvious?"_

"_I can guess," Edward replied, for once hesitant because he felt like the bond between them was too frail and breakable to support the weight of a heavy commitment. He wasn't sure what he wanted either. It seemed he could solve every mystery but the mystery of his own heart._

"_No, you should never guess," Eric chided. "You have to deduce, Eddie." _

_Edward added up their nights together and came to the inescapable conclusion. "You want sex."_

"_Well, yeah. But it's more than that—" _

_Eric pulled the smaller blond into a soft kiss, as if their mouths could express the feelings their words couldn't. Edward could taste the affection and desire, soft and gentle like the rain on a warm summer day._

"—_I want you."_

* * *

Arthur still wanted a cat (and he'd already bought the pet supplies), so he went on his own to the Halloween party.

He spotted the perfect cat, a cream-colored Scottish fold with a dark patch over one ear and its tail. Even better, the cat was dressed in its own Sherlock Holmes costume—like a sign from the heavens that this cat was meant for him.

Arthur strode forward to claim the cat, but someone in a bathrobe beat him to the cage.

"Excuse me," Arthur said politely, before he pulled back in recognition.

"Hey, Arthur. Wow, you and this cat match perfectly!" Alfred said as he happily cuddled the cat in his arms.

"What are you wearing?" Arthur couldn't help but ask. He frowned as he took in Alfred's green bathrobe. "Did you just shower and forget to change?"

Alfred grinned. "Come on, Sherlock, surely you can deduce my costume!"

Arthur adjusted his deerstalker cap and blew a few soap bubbles out of his fake pipe. He squinted and walked a complete circle around the other man. Alfred laughed. "Do you need a hint?" he asked with a sly grin.

"Of course not. The world's only consulting detective can solve any mystery. I've already deduced that you're a geek and very lazy… so you must be Arthur Dent."

Alfred laughed. "Brilliant!"

"I am, aren't I?"

"And so modest."

"Well, as my consultation fee, I'd like the cat."

"Nooope," Alfred replied. The cat mewled as he gripped it closer to his chest. "Iggy is cute and adorable and he's mine."

Arthur crossed his arms and scowled. "First, you knew I was coming here to adopt a cat. I don't see how you get off just waltzing in and stealing my cat. Second, Iggy is a terrible name."

"Yeah, I knew you were coming, and I'm glad you did, 'cause I wasn't sure how to get in contact otherwise. I mean I could have looked through the patient records, but that seemed even more unethical than what I'd already done."

Alfred took a deep breath and looked at Arthur plaintively. "I'm real sorry, I think I was subconsciously trying to stop your progress so that you'd keep coming to see me and then when you asked me here it clicked that I was basically dating a patient and I really don't normally give back rubs, but I just really wanted to and please don't report me to the board."

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. "Alfred, let me ease your mind on both counts: I haven't smoked a cigarette for the past six months and I have no intention of reporting anything. Surely you didn't think you were the only one enjoying our time together?"

Alfred gaped, then slowly closed his mouth as comprehension dawned. He smiled. "Oooh. Hey, that's good. I'm glad it worked. So, can we try this again? Pretend we're strangers meeting for the first time? You can give me your number and maybe invite me out for a cup of something?"

"If we're strangers, will you give me the cat?"

"No."

Arthur considered his options, he wanted Alfred, but he also wanted the cat. He thought through the problem logically and realized that the simple solution was to take both of them home with him.

And so he did.

(Perhaps it was just as well they weren't pretending to be strangers. Arthur liked one-night stands, but that wasn't what he wanted from Alfred.)

* * *

The cat quickly made itself at home, exploring every room except for the closed bedrrom, since neither human paid it any attention for the next few hours.

In the wee hours of the morning, it heard one of the humans leave the bedroom and sit down at his computer. He murmured to himself excitedly about 'Halloween' and 'costumes' and 'sexual tension' and 'an art theft mystery.' The cat leapt into his lap and started to purr.

* * *

_Several months later_…

Alfred looked up from the book as he heard Arthur entering the living room. "I don't remember the Halloween party happening quite like this," he said from his spot on the couch. "And I definitely don't remember this sex scene in my consultation room."

Arthur gave Alfred a cheeky grin.

"Well, love, we could always remedy that."

* * *

Alfred lounged against his desk and watched with an amused grin as Arthur fumbled with the buttons on Alfred's navy shirt. Arthur's own shirt already lay crumpled in a pile on the floor, but he was having trouble removing Alfred's. The shorter blond leaned forward, his knees straddling Alfred's legs as he fumbled to get the buttons out of their holes. Alfred considered helping, but decided that he preferred to watch.

"You are so drunk right now," he said as Arthur finally managed to pop the last button and pushed open the shirt, causing Arthur to look up and grin. Alfred licked his lips and admired Arthur's half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks. He reached out and stroked Arthur's back.

"Sloshed, smashed, trashed…" With each adjective, Alfred let his fingers trail down Arthur's spine until he had a firm grip on the slender man's firm tush.

"Lush," Alfred finished with a smile. He gave Arthur's butt a firm squeeze.

With a wordless noise of pleasure, Arthur draped himself across Alfred's chest and kissed him wetly. He slipped his tongue into Alfred's mouth, making the most amazing massaging motions when their tongues met. A thin line of saliva connected their mouths as Arthur pulled back. He rested his head on Alfred's shoulder. Alfred squeeze his butt again and then pressed his finger into the fabric of Arthur's boxers at just the right spot to elicit a throaty moan.

Arthur closed his lips against Alfred's neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. As Arthur began to lick and kiss Alfred's neck, it was Alfred's turn to moan. His fingers curled, bunching up the fabric of Arthur's boxers.

Arthur leaned back with a loose grin on his face, his cheeks now flushed completely red. His eyelids drooped and he blinked, fighting to keep them open.

"How are you feeling?" Alfred asked.

"Mmm… real good."

Alfred grinned. "Pfft. I bet you feel good. You're drunk enough to pass out." He counted down from three and caught Arthur as the small blond slumped forward, his head lolling against Alfred's shoulder. Alfred pushed himself to the edge of the desk, still holding Arthur in his arms. He tightened his grip on Arthur's behind and managed to stand. Alfred carried the smaller blond across the room, where he gently laid Arthur on the sofa.

Alfred slung off his shirt and tossed it to the side. He whispered a few words into Arthur's ear and then kissed his boyfriend on the lips.

Arthur blinked and slowly smiled. "Did you just… kiss me awake?" he asked in a perfectly sober voice.

"Yeah… I've always wanted to do that," Alfred admitted with a self-conscious grin.

Arthur grinned back. "You're ridiculous."

"Hey, I'm not the one who came up with the idea of being hypnotized into acting drunk."

"Belt up, you enjoyed it. And I like not having a hangover."

"Yeah, but I think my favorite part is right now." He pulled off Arthur's boxers and flung off his own to join them in the corner. Alfred straddled Arthur on the sofa. His world narrowed to the beautiful naked body beneath him and the desire growing in his own body. In the passionate haze of their love-making, he could hear Arthur call out his name and near the very end, he almost swore he heard "I love you" before his vision went white.

Feeling deliriously happy and amazingly satiated, Alfred wrapped his arms around the other blond. He thought that Arthur had fallen asleep, but Arthur surprised him after a few moments by turning around in Alfred's arms. He smiled as he faced Alfred.

"You know what would be amazing right now?" Arthur asked, a slightly devious look in his eyes as he began to smirk.

Alfred frowned. He knew that a lot of ex-smokers still liked a few post-coital puffs. "You better not say a cigarette," he replied.

"Of course not, love. No, what would be amazing—"

Arthur drew Alfred close for another passionate kiss, entwining their tongues together the same way they interlaced their limbs. Eventually, Arthur pulled back and looked at Alfred with a lusty sheen to his beautiful green eyes.

"—is another round."

* * *

And Alfred never looked at his consultation room the same way again. The End.

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Hey, did I mention this story was going to be shamelessly self-indulgent? Then again, that kinda describes most of my stories. I should just make a fic called "Shameless Self-Indulgence" and stick all of my country pr0n in there. It will be amazing ;)

Anyway, using hypnotherapy to help people quit smoking is a real thing. I just wanted to reassure you that my fanfics are all based on solid medical research!

…solid medical research means a few minutes of googling, right?

**Sherlock Holmes References**

Edward _Baker_ refers to Sherlock Holmes's address (221B Baker Street). Eric Watson refers to Dr. Watson, who served as an army doctor in Afghanistan (the original British war, obviously, not the modern one). Edward Cullen has nothing to do with Sherlock Holmes, but I thought it would be amusing if his costume matched Edward Baker's name. Mostly I picked the names 'Edward' and 'Eric' because I wanted them to still have names that started with a vowel and the same letter.

Alfred's costume also refers to Sherlock Holmes in a very oblique way: Martin Freeman played Arthur Dent in the most recent movie and he's also the actor who plays Watson in BBC's Sherlock. Arthur Dent is the easiest costume for lazy geeks. Remember your towel! :)

"Gang of Four" is a real British band, which I picked because it sounds like "The Sign of the Four" which is a Sherlock Holmes novel.

**Happy Halloween!**

AKA The Most Awkward Holiday to Walk Home after a One-Night Stand :)


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